


To A Great Mind, Nothing Is Little

by Geekygirl24



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BAMF John Watson, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Eventual Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, Jim is a Little Shit, John Watson is a Saint, M/M, Sebastian Moran and Jim Moriarty are Parents, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2019-07-29 17:38:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16269128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geekygirl24/pseuds/Geekygirl24
Summary: Sherlock and John are happy together,Some aren't happy that the Holmes genes won't be passed on.





	1. Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> Johnlock was one of my first and remains one of my biggest ships…. I’m ashamed I haven’t written this series before, it’s been in my mind for years!  
> Please read, review and enjoy

It only takes John thirty-five hours to realise that something was wrong…. Which, considering the unpredictability of his life with Sherlock, was pretty good.

 

It started like this;

 

………………………………………………..

 

Sherlock’s cheeks were flushed, and his hair was ruffled as he leant against the alley wall, a smirk on his face as he watched Lestrade and his officers dragging the victim’s secret lover away.

 

“Excellent…” he panted slightly, his head resting against the brick wall, “…. There’s nothing like a good adrenaline rush, right John?”

 

His eyes are dancing and he’s so clearly happy, that it make’s John’s heart tighten. God, he loves this man so much. “You’d want to do this forever, wouldn’t you? All this running around and bloody crime scenes?”

 

Sherlock glanced down at him, one hand reaching over to curl around John’s back, eyes roving over John’s face. “Forever…” he murmured at last and his mouth curled into a tiny smile that felt like the sun on John’s skin. John got the sense that he was coming to a realisation.

 

Whatever it was, John hoped it was a good one

 

“I love you…” he whispered fondly.

 

“Yeah…” Sherlock tone was thoughtful, “… you too.”

 

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

 

The next morning, John woke up alone.

 

Not unusual.

 

But coming into the kitchen and finding Sherlock actually cooking, inside of experimenting with eyeballs…. Now that was unusual.

 

The taller man was cooking shirtless, cursing up a blue streak as the bacon popped cheerfully on the stove.

 

“You know…” John chuckled, “… for a genius, you can be really silly sometimes.”

 

Sherlock just cursed a bit more, poking at the bacon with a spatula as red splotches appeared on his chest.

 

Yawning and running his fingers through his hair, John headed towards the kettle. “Brew love?”

 

“Yes. Please!” Sherlock hissed, jumping back slightly from the stove.

 

John chuckled, ambling over to the counter and flicking the kettle on to boil, pulling out two, clean mugs (aka, none with toes, fingers or bodily fluids in them) and throwing two teabags in them. Once the water was boiled, he poured it out into the mugs, topped it up with milk and sighed in relief. 

 

As he leant against the counter (still a little too groggy to want to properly support his weight), he wrapped his hands around the mug and held it close, feeling the steam on his face, curling around his cheeks like phantom fingers.

 

“So…” Sherlock said, overly casual, “… you’re interested in marriage then.”

 

John was silent for a few moments, watching Sherlock for any signs of disdain (marriage was so ‘mundane’ after all), before nodding. “Yeah… a little bit.”

 

Sherlock hummed…. Then he swore furiously as another drop of hot oil hit him on the sensitive skin of his wrist, glaring at John when the shorter man cackled like a hyena.

 

……………………………………………………………………………….

 

After John came back from work, Sherlock was nowhere to be found.

 

“Mrs Hudson!” He called down the stairs, smiling when their landlady emerged, “Do you know where Sherlock is?”

 

Mrs Hudson thought to herself for a few moments, before clicking her fingers. “No… I think he went out dearie. I heard the door slam earlier, you know how he gets, I think he must have been- “

 

“- thank you, Mrs Hudson.” John quickly interrupted, before she could go on, “A bit of peace and quiet before he comes back won’t hurt. Thank you!”

 

……………………………………………………………………………………………

 

Around six hours later, John was finishing the final chapter of his book, humming softly to himself when the door to their flat suddenly flew open and Sherlock stormed into their shared room.

 

“Sherlock?”

 

Silence.

 

John frowned at the lack of a reply, placing the book down on the table before heading over to the room… only to find the door locked.

 

“Sherlock? Sherlock!”

 

Before he could really start to panic, a note was slipped under the door, Sherlock’s familiar handwriting scribbled on it.

 

‘John,

 

Don’t panic, but I’m trying to plan something. Need some space.

Ignore Mycroft when he calls.’

 

John simply shrugged. When Sherlock had these moments, it was best to just leave him be. “Alright Sherlock…” he called through the door, “… love you!”

 

“… Love you too.” He faintly heard Sherlock call back, forcing a smile back onto John’s face.

 

…………………………………………………………….

 

He couldn’t help but think about what Sherlock was doing, brain racing at a hundred miles an hour trying to figure out what it is Sherlock’s planning. He was distracted for the better part of the evening, and it was only when he was watching Doctor Who, when it hit him.

 

“Sherlock’s going to propose…” he whispered to himself, glancing over to the door of their shared room, “… Sherlock is actually going to propose.”

 

He knew he was repeating himself and wished he could go to Sherlock…. But he knew that he’d have to let Sherlock do this in his own time, let him make it perfect.

 

A jolt of thrilled joy shot up his spine when he wondered how Sherlock would go about it.

 

…………………………………………………………………………..

 

Over the next three days, John imagined it thousands of different ways – most of them were small and intricate proposals, he couldn’t imagine Sherlock planning any grand public spectacles. 

 

Maybe at Angelos’s?

 

Or the next crime scene… Sherlock would definitely plan something like that.

 

The part he thinks about the hardest, is the way the words will sound coming out of Sherlock’s mouth.

 

‘John, will you marry me?’

 

He doesn’t care where or how it happens. All that matters is Sherlock.

 

And this is a big step for the consulting detective – one John hadn’t actually expected him to take. Being in a relationship like this is something Sherlock never believed he would ever be a part of, or want to, so the fact that he’s willing to go all in and propose… it means everything.

 

He’ll wait for as long as Sherlock needs, no matter what.

 

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

 

This is how it ends.

 

Sherlock showed up at the door to the living room, dressed immaculately in a suit and tie, his purple shirt neatly pressed underneath. “John…” He began, his smile shy and his eyes alight with nerves.

 

John’s throat went dry at the sight of him. “Sherlock…” he rasped, “… you look… nice.”

 

“Hmmmm, ready?”

 

John frowned, “Ready for what?”

 

“Dinner of course. Keep up John.”

 

John rolled his eyes, a fond smile on his face, “Alright, alright…. Let me get changed and then we’ll be off.”

 

…………………………………………..

 

Angelo’s was as intimate as it usually was, their table lit by candlelight and little else. They eat dinner side by side in a booth, eating off one another’s plates. John felt like he did when they first started dating, stomach skipping around inside him.

 

Sherlock’s hands were shaking when he brandished the ring box and went down on one knee. “I want to marry you, “ he blurted out, and John couldn’t help the strangled laugh that bubbled out of him, “I mean…” Sherlock went on hurriedly, “… I do love you, and it’s painfully obvious you love me too- “

 

“- Oh obviously.” John interrupted, prompting Sherlock to smirk at him.

 

Sherlock’s hands were shaking so much that he could barely pluck the ring out of the box. He took a deep breath and said, “Will you, John Hamish Watson, marry me… ill-advised though that may mmmfff- “

 

“Yes…” John gasped into his mouth, “… yes, yes, yes.”

 

………………………………………………………………..

 

Days later, John was starting to see the old Sherlock come back.

 

“Sherlock.” Came his muffled whine, as he lay slumped over the table, hair dishevelled, face buried in his arms, surrounded by dozens of wedding invites.

 

“John, “Sherlock mocked, “I don’t see what the problem is.”

 

John’s head shot up, and he fixed Sherlock with a look that would have been almost intimidating if he hadn’t had an invitation stuck to his left cheek.

 

“Do not give me that look John…” he scolded, “I’m serious. It’s not necessary.”

 

John looked scandalised, almost hurt.

 

“Of course, it’s necessary!” he exclaimed, “How can you say that? It’s tradition!”

 

“Ah yes, so important!” Sherlock drawled, rolling his eyes, “Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective is getting married to his blogger, but the ceremony isn’t traditional! Whatever will England do?!”

 

The way John’s shoulder slumped as he dropped his gaze made Sherlock want to throw himself under a bus… or willingly go and work for Mycroft. He’d maintained a solid thirteen-day streak of being a somewhat decent human being… almost two weeks, it was a new record.

 

A new record that had just been ruined.

 

“But’s that’s all the more reason, isn’t it?” John mumbled, looking up at him, “Otherwise, what was the point?”

 

Sherlock’s heart sank so quickly, he felt like he’d swallowed a rock. “The point of what?” he choked out, “Of agreeing to marry me?”

 

John’s eyes widened, and he gasped, “No! Oh god, Sherlock no, of course not, I love you, I want to marry you. I just…” He sighed, saying nothing for a few moments and looking down at his hands again.

 

Quietly, Sherlock got up from his chair and made his way over and took John’s hands into his own. John breathed deeply, and Sherlock knew he wasn’t imagining the way the sound seemed to shudder.

 

He didn’t look at Sherlock when he finally spoke.

 

“Traditional is all I ever wanted,” he whispered quietly, “I remember being at Harry’s wedding to Clara… it was a mess, nothing had been done right, and I just remember thinking to myself… ‘mine will be better, mine will be planned, a perfect day to the perfect person.’

 

He looked up, straight into Sherlock’s eyes.

 

“I know we fight, but I do love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you… which is why I want to plan this wedding with you!”

 

And for roughly the 12’637th time since he and John had started their friendship, and then relationship, Sherlock felt slightly ashamed.

 

“I’m sorry…” he said, hoping John could hear the sincerity and remorse that dripped from his words.

 

John smiled, “It’s alright Sherlock.”

 

“No, it’s not. But I’ll make it up to you.”

 

“So… you’ll help?” John asked hopefully.

 

“Of course!” Sherlock reassured him, “What do you need me to do?”

 

“Well… you can start by choosing a best man.”

 

Sherlock frowned, “But, I don’t know how you expect me to just pick someone?”

 

John chuckled, “It won’t be that hard.”

 

“…. Alright, how about Gavin?”

 

“Greg… and I’ve already picked him. I’m planning to ask him when we finally get around to telling people.”

 

Sherlock groaned, dramatically thumping his head against John’s leg. “You have other friends, why can’t I have Ge- Greg?”

 

“Because Greg is a good friend of mine…. You do have someone else you can ask, you know.”

 

Sherlock raised his head, frowning at his fiancé… and then he realised exactly who John was referring to. “No.” he growled, “No.”

 

“He’s your brother Sherlock- “

 

“- he’s a manipulative bastard!”

 

“I know, trust me, I know!” John chuckled, “But he is your brother and deny it all you want, he’s helped a lot.”

 

“And other times- “

 

“- and other times, he’s stood in our way.” John sighed, nodding in agreement, “Alright, think of it this way. Mycroft probably already knows about our engagement…. But there’s no way he’ll expect you to ask him to be your best man…. You’ll have the advantage.”

 

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest once again… only to shut it and smirk at the thought. “He’d never expect it…” he hissed in delight, “… I’ll actually be able to shock him, silence him!”

 

He leapt to his feet and started to pace the room, “It’s brilliant… Genius. I’ll finally be able to- “

 

“- Sherlock.” 

 

Sherlock paused, spinning around to face John, who was frowning at him sternly.”

 

“I know what I said…. But I don’t want you to ask him if it’s only to score points on this-this ridiculous sibling feud you two have going on!”

 

“Then why would I ask?”

 

“…. Because he’s your brother Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock was uncharacteristically silent for a few moments, prompting John to get to his feet and head out of the living room. “Just think about it Sherlock.”

 

………………………………………………………………………………….

 

Sherlock hated visiting his brother’s home…. It screamed ‘privileged’ and ‘snobbishness’, and Sherlock despised that.

 

It reminded him too much of Holmes Manor.

 

Before he could even knock on the door, it swung open and Mycroft’s assistant stood there, not even bothering to look up from her phone as she moved to one side. “He’s expecting you. Third door on the left.”

 

Sherlock just grunted, taking his time through the corridor until he reached the indicated room.

 

“Come in Sherlock.”

 

“Let me knock first…” he muttered under his breath, pushing the door open and sneering at the sight of his brother behind the desk, “… Mycroft. Working hard as usual?”

 

“England never sleeps brother of mine, therefore yes, I’m working hard…. Congratulations on your engagement by the way, I hear the ring was impressive…. Although, had you given me a bit of notice, I could have organised something nicer for Doctor Watson.”

 

“The ring was nice enough…” Sherlock growled, before taking a deep breath, “I need to talk to you…. It’s important.”

 

“Getting cold feet already brother mine?” Mycroft glanced up at him, narrowing his eyes. “Tense muscles, a twitch in the upper lip, slight perspiration on the brow… definitely nerves. And for some god-forsaken reason, you’ve decided to come and see me about it.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock stepped forwards and took a seat opposite his brother. “Wrong.” He stated, “I am not getting cold feet.”

 

“Your face would suggest otherwise.”

 

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, only to take a deep breath and start muttering under his breath.

 

“Can’t punch him. John won’t be happy. Can’t punch him. John won’t be happy.”

 

“Sherlock…” Mycroft interrupted him, a fed-up sigh escaping him as he stared at his younger brother, “…. Why are you here?”

 

“… You are happy that I’m getting married, right?”

 

At the uncharacteristic nerves in Sherlock’s voice, Mycroft straightened up, placing all the papers back on the desk, indicating that he was giving Sherlock all of his attention. “I have concerns…” he admitted to Sherlock, “… you know how we were raised. Sentiment is a weakness, and yet...”

 

When Mycroft stopped, Sherlock found himself leaning forwards in curiosity.

 

“And yet?”

 

“… And yet Doctor Watson has been good for you. So yes, I am glad that you’re getting married.”

 

Sherlock nodded, a determined look flashing across his face, “Yes…. And I want you to be my best man.”

 

Silence.

 

“Mycroft?”

 

Sherlock thought this would be one of the best moments of his life…. The day he finally managed to surprise Mycroft.

 

This…. This silence was unnerving.

 

Mycroft looked like he was going to have a heart attack any moment now. 

 

“Y-You…” The older brother took a deep breath, adjusting his tie, before continuing, “… Y-you want me to be your best man?”

 

“Isn’t that what I just asked?”

 

Astounded to see his older brother act like this, Sherlock found himself leaning forwards, actually excited to hear the answer.

 

“I assumed you would ask Detective Inspector Lestrade.” Mycroft eventually stated, still struggling to compose himself.

 

“So… you don’t want to?”

 

Sherlock actually found himself disappointed…. It wasn’t like he really wanted his brother to be his best man, but it would have been nice to hear Mycroft say yes.

 

“Sherlock.”

 

His brother’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts, prompting Sherlock to glance back up at the government official, taking note of the uncomfortable look on Mycroft’s face.

 

“It’s not that I don’t want to Sherlock…. But even you have to admit that we don’t have the best relationship and- “

 

“- and you’re my brother.” Sherlock crossed his arms and leant back in his chair, resting his feet on the desk, “As much as I hate to admit it, you’ve been there since the beginning. You stopped me overdosing or chocking on my own vomit. When John was hurt, you arranged the best care for him, even though you won’t admit it.”

 

Before Mycroft could disagree with the statement, Sherlock held up his hand and stopped him in his tracks. “Don’t try and deny it, those Doctors practically danced to attention, as does everyone you bribe…. Mycroft, I want you to be my best man.”

 

“I-I- “

 

“Please?”

 

Chuckling at the quiet ‘please’ (a word he didn’t hear often enough from his brother), Mycroft slowly nodded, finally having regained his composure, “I would be delighted to Sherlock.”

 

“Great!” Sherlock shuffled uncomfortably from side to side, “I’m sure you’ll be… good, a good best man.”

 

“… Thank you, Sherlock.”

 

There was another uncomfortable shuffle, before Sherlock suddenly leapt to his feet. “Well…. That’s done now. I’ll let you get back to taking over the world.”

 

“Oh, I’ll have no time for that brother mine…” Mycroft smirked wickedly, “… I have a best man speech to write after all. How much do you think the people will appreciate hearing about your adventures as Captain Sherlock the pirate?”

 

“…. This was a mistake.”

 

“Can’t take it back now Sherlock.”

 

“Hmph…” Glancing back at his brother, Sherlock gave him one last smile, before rushing out of the door, almost running into Athena along the way. As he passed her, he suddenly stopped in his tracks, and turned back, “… John will probably have one of those ‘official invitations’ for you, but you are you know… invited.”

 

She looked a little stunned by the statement, before she quickly turned her attention back to her phone, her eyes suspiciously wet. “I’m sure I can work it in around our schedule.”

 

…………………………………………………………………

 

“Sooo….” John twisted around and beamed at Sherlock, clearly already knowing the answer, “… how did it go?”

 

“… Fine. It went… fine.”

 

“Just fine?”

 

His tone was knowing, and Sherlock couldn’t help but roll his eyes at it… is this how John felt when he was talking?

 

“Mycroft and I have agreed that, in order to make our wedding a pleasant day, he will act as my best man.” Sherlock glanced at John out of the corner of his eye, “Our relationship hasn’t magically improved John.”

 

“I know! I know…” John held up his hands in mock surrender, the grin still on his face, “…I bet he was thrilled though.”

 

“Hmmmm…. I invited Athena as well.”

 

“…. Good… You can write out her invitation then.”

 

“Ugh.”


	2. Wedding Plans

“I don’t care.”

 

Sherlock regretted it the moment the words fell out of his mouth.

 

John’s hand was still hovering over the colour schemes book, his eyes didn’t move away from the page as he slowly shut it. “Alright, I’ll just pick a colour we both like then.”

 

No tension in the voice.

 

Hands relaxed.

 

Tone calm.

 

It was clearly bad… had he upset John so much that the other man had learnt how to mask it?

 

“John…” he twisted around, trying to look the other man in the eye, “… It’s not… I care, I just- “

 

“- Don’t care.”

 

He’s so tired.

 

When Lestrade and the rest of the morons at Scotland Yard weren’t calling him to every case that stumped them (which was almost all of them), John was pestering him about meaningless wedding details. And when neither of them were blowing up his phone, then Mycroft was being his usual, smug self.

 

Can you take back a best-man invitation?

 

To be fair to John, planning a wedding seems to be a substantial amount of work; there are logistics Sherlock didn’t know the answer to and more details that need approval then he knew existed.

 

His shoulders slumped at John’s remark.

 

“No…” he confessed, “… I really don’t. I really don’t care what colour the chairs are.”

 

John just smiled, pushing himself to his feet and making his way over to his fiancée, patting him gently on the shoulder as he passed by. “It’s alright Sherlock… honestly.”

 

Amazing how four words could make him feel even worse.

 

Sherlock pulled himself together and pushed himself to his own feet, striding across the room until he was pressed up against John’s back. He wrapped his arms cautiously around the shorter man, resting his chin on John’s head. “I care about you…” he mumbled, “I care about…. Getting married to you.”

 

Running his thumb across the back of Sherlock’s hand, John relaxed ever so slightly, using his other hand to try and organise the wedding plans as best as possible.

 

Sherlock didn’t move, even as his entire system flooded with relief. 

 

“I care about the look on Mummy and Father’s face when I have to bring you to the next family party and get to introduce you as my husband.”

 

John huffed in amusement, “Charming.” He stated dryly, a small but sad smile on his face.

 

Neither of them had very good relationships with their parents…. John simply grew distant with them due to his Dad’s alcoholism, and Sherlock, because of… something else entirely.

 

“I still don’t care about the colour of the chairs…” Sherlock sighed, “… Blue, green, pink… or we could make everyone sit on the floor. I just… want to be married.”

 

Gently, John pried Sherlock hands off of him (which Sherlock let him… reluctantly), turning around and allowing Sherlock to continue with the loose hug. “You should have started with that…” he chuckled, pulling the taller man into a kiss.

 

Reassured by the statement, Sherlock continued, fingers playing with the blonde hair on John’s nape. “I want to be married to you. Everything else is just…” he waved his hand in the air, the action saying what words couldn’t, “… stuff.”

 

“Stuff...” John echoed, chuckling warmly as a warm smile appeared on his face, “… really expensive stuff.”

 

John’s tone was weary, and his eyes constantly darted over to the paperwork on the table… specifically on the magazines and the bold lettering that indicated how much everything was.

 

He was just as tired as Sherlock was…. Because he’d been shouldering the brunt of the wedding planning so that Sherlock didn’t have to… and worrying about the price of everything on top of that.

 

“I… apologise….” Sherlock sighed, “… Maybe I can help?”

 

“Oh god, please no.”

 

…………………………………………………………..

 

“Mummy really wanted us to have the wedding in her family home.”

 

“I’m no Sherlock Holmes, but even I can see that you don’t want to go there…” John sent a quick smirk at his fiancée, “… And judging by Mycroft’s pinched expression when he gave me her message, he’d rather not go there either.”

 

Sherlock looked a little stunned, the few seconds giving John the chance to continue.

 

“I might not be a Holmes… but I can read people, and you don’t want to go back home.” John smiled, “Now, I’ve already called the registry office and we can either have a spring wedding or a winter wedding.”

 

“Winter.” Sherlock snapped out of his shock, turning away and acting like nothing had happened, “Spring is so pedestrian. Dull…. Ordinary.”

 

John nodded, “You’re right… and they’ll be more spaces in November or December. If we’re not having the wedding at your old home, then we’ll just have to invite them and- “

 

“- They won’t come.” 

 

“Oh.”

 

Sherlock shook his head, “They never approved of Mycroft and his… desires. They are unlikely to accept that I feel the same towards another man.”

 

“Right… okay. Mine probably won’t either….” John scowled at the thought, “… Harry might, but we’ll have to get rid of the open bar idea.”

 

“Hmmmm.”

 

“Do you have a suit Sherlock?”

 

Sherlock waved his hand in dismissal, “Probably in the wardrobe.”

 

“… Are you planning to tidy the wardrobe at any point? You know, to find it before the wedding?”

 

No comment.

 

“I think I might need a new one, or- “

 

“- your army formal uniform.” Sherlock interrupted, glancing over before twisting his face around so that it couldn’t be seen (although not before John could see the slight blush on his face), “The formal army uniform should be just fine.”

 

John smirked, but decided not to tease the other man about it…. That could be saved for another time.

 

“I might have to have it altered a bit, but I think I can do that.” Another thought then occurred to John, “What about- “

 

“- if you’re going to ask about the personal vows, then I already have that well in hand.”

 

Strange… no rants about how unnecessary they were?

 

No groaning and dramatic sighs?

 

“You… you sure?”

 

Sherlock waved his hand in dismissal, “Already finished them… so yes, I’m sure.”

 

“Right… that’s fine. Brilliant actually.”

 

“…. Good?”

 

“Very good.”

 

……………………………………………………………………………

 

“Broken into three times, and the assistant manager is taking a cut from the deposits.”

 

“How did you- forget it….” John softly hissed, sending a fake smile towards the poor woman showing them around, “… you promised you’d behave.”

 

“No, I didn’t.”

 

“Actually, I had you sign something, now will you please behave?” John sounded a little desperate, “We’ve only got three places left to check, and I would like to go through one without you pointing out every flaw.”

 

Sherlock frowned, leaving his weight on one foot as he leaned over to hiss in John’s ear, “She’ll take some of the deposit if you choose this place.”

 

“Sherlock- “

 

“- We should go somewhere else.”

 

“Why, so you can criticise the rest of them as well?” Johns snapped, before taking a deep breath, “We’ll finish this, and then we’ll go to the next one.”

 

Hearing the sound of the venue coordinator’s heels coming back across the hardwood floor, John pulled his hands up in front of his chest in a sign of prayer, “Could you please… just behave?”

 

Pouting, Sherlock nodded, easily shifting into his default ‘bored’ expression.

 

Once the footsteps were closer, John spun around, a pleasant grin on his face…. the refusal already on his lips.

 

Oh well… maybe the next one.

 

……………………………………………………………………

 

Jane handed them a glossy folder with detailed information about room dimensions, catering prices and other details.

 

This was the last venue.

 

Sherlock had shot down the other two with his usual flair and dramatics (the owner of the last one had banished them from the premises… not the first time it had happened to them, but still), however, he hadn’t said one thing about this one.

 

One and a half hours… it was probably a world record.

 

“So, is there anything you’d like to have a look at again?” Jane asked, “Any questions?”

 

John shook his head, eyes already skimming over some of the information. “No, thank you.”

 

“Are you available in winter?” Sherlock suddenly piped up.

 

Turning to him in shock, John raised an eyebrow in silent query.

 

No jabs about the woman’s married life?

 

No comments on the crime in the area?

 

A murder that happened in the main ballroom?

 

Nothing?

 

Sherlock didn’t look him in the eye, a seemingly genuine smile on his face as he waited for Jane to finish checking on her tablet.

 

“This winter?” Jane tapped at the screen, “We do have some room, but off the top of my head, I’m not sure about the dates. Obviously Christmas and New Years aren’t available, but just let me check…” She trailed off, eyes furrowed in concentration.

 

“How about mid-January?”

 

Jane nodded eagerly at that, already launching into the spiel about whether or not they wanted the traditional Friday or Saturday evening reception, whether or not they needed vegetarian options, guest accommodation, renting the entire building for the weekend.

 

And Sherlock nodded along eagerly.

 

At this point, John was tempted to check his forehead for a fever, especially when Sherlock started talking about booking it for a Friday, his tone friendly and calm… completely non-Holmes like.

 

When Jane dismissed herself in order to make some final checks on the dates, John turned to Sherlock and frowned, “Are you alright? What are you doing?”

 

“Asking questions John, honestly do try to keep up.” Sherlock rolled his eyes… he always did hate stating the obvious, “Isn’t that why you’re dragging me all around London?”

 

“Well yes but- “John stopped, not wanting to point out how Sherlock had been acting at the other ones.

 

Sherlock straightened up, folding his arms across his chest and cocking his head to one side, “You like this place.” He stated matter of factly.

 

“How did you- “

 

“Your eyes dilated when we first entered, the pamphlet for this place was more used than the other ones, indicating that you’d read over the information over and over again. Whilst with the other owners, you’d tried to keep things short and sweet, a clearly forced smile on your face, you were more genuine here… you wanted to make a good impression. Do I really need to go on?”

 

“… No…. Do you like it?”

 

Sherlock thought to himself for a few moments, before shrugging. “It’s the right size… not too big. It is… very appealing to look at. You’ve already insisted on a wedding photographer, and there are plenty nice places for… sentimental photos.”

 

He said this in such a way, that indicated just how ridiculous he found the entire idea.

 

“So…” John smirked, “… you think this place is perfect as well?” He took a step away from Sherlock and slowly spun around, already picturing when the head table would go, where the cake would be and where the dance floor could be set up.

 

He then settled his gaze back on Sherlock, who was watching him, arms folded again with an inquiring, but patient look.

 

“So… we’re going to be signing the contract?” he asked, one eyebrow raised in expectation, “Don’t worry…” he interrupted before John could even think about opening his mouth, “… Mycroft will probably help with the cost.”

 

He then stepped over to wrap his arms around John from behind, bending down to rest his chin on the top of John’s head. “Stop worrying.” He ordered gently, “We can afford this place.”

 

Hearing the sound of heels striking wood, announcing the return of Jane, prompting Sherlock to take another step back.

 

“We’ll take it.” Sherlock spoke up, before Jane could even say a word.

 

She was clearly caught by surprise, eyes widening slightly, before a small smile spread across her face. “Excellent. I do have a few dates in mind for you already…” she opened up the calendar, “… Now, January, let’s see…. I have the 15th and the 22nd available? Both of them Fridays.”

 

They both moved closer as Jane turned the tablet around to show them, as Sherlock nodded. “The 15th would work…” he muttered, “… not too close to the New Year celebrations, but close enough to mean the place won’t be busy.”

 

“So… the 15th then?” Jane glanced between the pair of them, smiling when John nodded in agreement.

 

“We have a plan.” John muttered to Sherlock, a beaming smile on his face, “No backing out now, you understand that, right?”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”


	3. Stag Night

The bar was sticky, but it wasn’t as bad as John expected it to be. Just a normal, bar with normal beer, in normal glasses…. Not the measuring cylinders that Sherlock initially wanted to use for their stag do.

 

It was bearable… if you were completely wasted… which half of the cops in this place seemed to be.

 

“No offense Greg… but why did you invite these guys again?” he asked, slightly irritable as he waited for his drink. Behind him, the music was getting louder… as well as the drunk cops.

 

Greg looked irritated by them as well, “I didn’t… they decided to tag along.”

 

As the bartender handed them their drinks, as well as a club soda for Sherlock (drinking dulled the senses of course), they both turned and headed towards the back room, where the main part of the stag party was taking place.

 

The voices got louder, devolving into the drumming of hands against the tables, cheering and wolf whistles.

 

“Oh please tell me they didn’t order strippers.” John hissed, “If they ordered strippers, then I’m going to- “

 

Greg placed a hand on his shoulder in silent understanding as they both headed into the back room, watching as the three woman wearing black bras and tartan skirts, the shirts shaking wildly as they shimmied and shook their hips.

 

Sherlock, understandably, was standing back against the wall, turned away from the main event, not even noticing when the strippers ripped off their skirts to reveal lacy back panties.

 

Taking a large wig of beer, John immediately make a beeline for Sherlock…. He should have insisted on something simple back at the flat. Just him, Greg and Sherlock… and maybe Mycroft.

 

And then one of the strippers grabbed Sherlock’s wrist, pulling him away from the wall as Anderson egged her on.

 

Sherlock, as much as he pretended to be unaffected by these things, looked a little un-nerved by the attention, clearly torn between pushing the woman away and reducing her to a crying mess… or not touching her at all.

 

Practically slamming the glasses down on a nearby table, John shoved his way through the crowd, barely hearing Greg call out for order.

 

Bastards…. And bitches, because he was sure that Sally was involved in all of this. They knew that Sherlock would hate this, they knew that- and now the stripper was rubbing up against his fiancée. 

 

Sherlock had gone completely still, like spiders were crawling all over his body. John didn’t need to be a Holmes to see that Sherlock was completely hating.

 

This was all one big joke against Sherlock.

 

And now the stripper was touching Sherlock’s face, mussing up his hair and smearing her makeup all over him.

 

“Okay, joke’s over!” John yelled, the famed Watson temper rising up, “That’s enough!”

 

Sherlock looked like he’d rather be a million miles away.

 

“Oh, come on!” Anderson called back, “We’re having a good time!”

 

John ignored him, roughly pushing past him and gently pushing the stripper away from his fiancée, ignoring how the other policemen booed in disappointment.

 

“Shows over…” he told her, “… bother someone else.”

 

She stumbled back slightly, looking confused for a moment, before shrugging and going back to work. John didn’t care about that though, he was too focused on Sherlock, who’d scurried back over to the corner, looking a little bit pissed off.

 

“You okay?” John murmured, as he placed a hand on the taller man’s shoulder.

 

Sherlock’s head jerked in a quick nod.

 

“… You want a drink? I got you that club soda you wanted?”

 

Shake of the head.

 

“Shame… because as your Doctor, I really think you should have a drink.”

 

“I said no…” Sherlock spat out, “… Can we go now?”

 

“Yeah.” John’s answer was immediate, “Let me grab Greg, and we’ll head back to the flat.”

 

“Grab who?”

 

“…. Don’t start. You know who I’m talking about.”

 

Once they’d grabbed Lestrade, they all headed out of the bar, into the cold night air and onto the empty pavement outside.

 

“I’ll get us a cab.” Lestrade muttered, glancing over at John, who gave him a thankful nod. 

 

He needed to talk to Sherlock in private.

 

Once Greg had moved a little bit away, John turned to the taller man, frowning at the make-up stains on Sherlock’s clothes. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

 

Sherlock didn’t look him in the eye, “I’m all right.”

 

“Sherlock… it’s okay to be- “

 

“I’m angry…” Sherlock’s voice was quiet and tense, “… I’m really angry.”

 

John resisted the urge to storm back into the bar and punch Anderson and the rest of those jerks. “Okay…” he bit out, not wanting Sherlock to think he was angry with him, “… That’s okay, understandable.”

 

“I was humiliated.” Sherlock could not have been tenser, “That was humiliating.”

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

When Sherlock finally turned to look at him, John winced at the look on his face… the look of confusion.

 

“Is that… typical for these stag nights?”

 

“The strippers? Yes, unfortunately, but what Anderson did wasn’t right.” Slowly he reached up to tug on Sherlock’s scarf, gently encouraging the man to lean down and kiss him briefly, “Now, I vote we go back to the flat, and have a private stag party with us, Greg… and Mycroft.”

 

“Do we have to invite Mycroft?”

 

“Yes… He’s a best man. He said no to this one, which I understand, but a couple of drinks with him isn’t going to kill you.”

 

“It might…”

 

There was something in Sherlock’s tone that made John vow to find all the non-deadly poisons in the flat and hide them where he’d hidden the man’s cigarettes.

 

“For a few hours, please behave yourself.”

 

“I will if he will.”

 

“Children, I’m getting married into a family of children!” The words might have been slightly harsh, but he made sure to keep his tone teasing. 

 

“Come on you bloody cabs!” 

 

At Greg’s exclamation, laced with sheer frustration, John suddenly had a stroke of inspiration, A moment of genius if you will.

 

“We can always distract Mycroft with Greg.”

 

Sherlock turned to him incredulously, “Why would we do that?”

 

“Well… surely you’ve heard how Greg sounds when he talks about your brother?”

 

Blank look.

 

“And I’ve heard Mycroft call him by his first name before…. Mind you, he calls him Gregory, but he still sometimes refers to me as Doctor Watson.”

 

“You believe my brother likes Lestrade?” Sherlock narrowed his eyes in thought, before his eyes lit up, “John, have I told you how much I love you recently?”

 

“It never hurts to say it again.”

 

Sherlock wrapped his long limbs around John and kissed him on the lips, before breaking away, a victorious grin on his face.

 

“Mycroft will be so distracted by Lestrade, that he’ll stop pestering me, and Lestrade will be so distracted with my brother, that’ll he’ll notice me taking the evidence less.”

 

“And they’ll both be happy.”

 

Sherlock waved his hand in dismissal, “Yes, yes, yes… come on John. I’m sure Mycroft will be at the flat by now. Let’s set this plan into motion. TAXI!”

 

Almost immediately, the taxi stopped causing Greg to groan as he watched Sherlock clamber eagerly inside. 

 

“How does he do that?”

 

“Come on! Come on!”

 

Greg frowned at the shouting coming from inside the taxi, “He seems eager all of a sudden…” he frowned in suspicion, glancing at John,” … what have you two done.”

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Greg. No idea at all.”


	4. Chapter 4

It was unseasonably warm for January, but there was still a chill in the night-time air as the wind blew across John’s face. Thank god for warm, winter coats.

 

“Isn’t it the tradition for the groom… and the groom not to see each other before the wedding?”

 

John rolled his eyes as Greg moved to stand next to him, “No… but who cares about tradition when there’s been a double decapitation?”

 

“Buy you a beer later?”

 

“Nah… I should probably try and get as many hours sleep as I can. Big day tomorrow and everything.”

 

Whilst it was impossible that Sherlock heard the last sentence, he suddenly shot up into an upright position and made his way over.

 

“Find the man’s mother, she never approved of their relationship.” He ordered Lestrade, “And do it before tomorrow. No excuses.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I knew you cared.”

 

As Lestrade patted John on the back, making his way over to the other officers, Sherlock nervously cleared his throat. 

 

“I’m sorry… about all this.”

 

“You wouldn’t be Sherlock Holmes without dragging me out to a crime scene at all hours of the morning.” John paused and frowned at the look on Sherlock’s face, “Nervous?”

 

“… I don’t get nervous.”

 

John smirked, “Slightly pale skin…. Little bit of sweat… slight shake of the hands. Definitely nerves.”

 

There was a brief moment of silence, before Sherlock practically deflated, a sheepish look on his face. “A little bit…” he eventually confessed. He did love John and could list all the reasons he wanted to marry him in alphabetical and chronological order, but this was still a big commitment. Being nervous was natural and he knew it, “… You?”

 

John shook his head and grinned, “No, not at all… I can’t wait to marry you.”

 

“Oh.” Sherlock scowled, “Is it bad that I am?”

 

“Never… I’d be nervous if I were marrying me too.”

 

As John chuckled, Sherlock rolled his eyes and elbowed him in the side, frowning when John shivered slightly, “Cold?”

 

“A little… I guess I should have picked out a better jacket, huh?” John shivered again, “I swear it was a lot warmer this afternoon.”

 

Sherlock was silent for a few moments, before shrugging off his own coat and wrapping it around John’s shoulders. “Here.” He whispered.

 

“Now you’ll be cold!” He didn’t remove the coat though. The absorbed body warmth was rather nice actually, and there weren’t many opportunities for John to wear Sherlock’s clothing, due to being a little broader than the lanky man.

 

Sherlock shrugged, “I don’t mind.” He took John’s hand and they continued walking down the streets. For a few moments, they walked on in silence.

 

It was one of the things Sherlock loved about John. They could be silent together.

 

And then they heard Big Ben chime out.

 

“Hey…” John nudged Sherlock in the side, “… it’s midnight. It’s our wedding day.”

 

There was something so genuine about John’s face. He always wore his emotions so freely with everyone, and now, he was practically giddy. Nervous or not, Sherlock knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with this man. The idea of doing anything else seemed… wrong.

 

“I… really want to marry you.” He found himself confessing, surprising even himself.

 

“Fourteen more hours, and then we can.” John sounded a little chocked up.

 

“Too long.” Sherlock mumbled, happy that John wasn’t taking the ridiculous superstition about how the groom and… other groom shouldn’t see each other, seriously. He wanted to wake up in the morning with John lying beside him and know that he was the one who got to marry him.

 

He needed this.

 

“Sherlock, come here.” John pulled him over to a patch of grassland, before starting to hum and taking slow, deliberate steps.

 

“Are we… dancing?” 

 

“Think of it as practice.”

 

“… Can’t we class this as the first dance?”

 

John cackled, burying his face into Sherlock’s chest to try and muffle the sound of his laughter, as they swayed from side to side.

 

“I like this better though!” Sherlock protested, “Just us… nobody around.”

 

“With me wearing your coat.” John thought it for a few moments, “You’re right. This is our first dance.”

 

……………………………………………………………….

 

Harry swept into the flat as John neatened out his formal military uniform. He’d forgotten just how good he looked in this…. No wonder Sherlock was eager for him to wear it.

 

His hands were jittery, and he just couldn’t keep his hands steady.

 

“Your land-lady said Holmes spent the night here.” Harry piped up, “Isn’t that bad luck?”

 

Resisting the urge to point out how Harry and Clara followed tradition, only to suffer through the marriage of hell, John sighed, “We had a late case last night, nothing happened… and Mycroft was here at six in the morning to whisk him away, so we didn’t have chance to do anything this morning either.”

 

Harry sighed dramatically, “It is as I feared… well, I suppose it falls to me, your big sister!” She placed a hand on his shoulder, “Your wedding night will give you a whole new experience that- “

 

“- Stop, stop, stop!” John placed his hands over his ears, “I can’t hear you! We’ve been having sex for ages, you don’t need to say anything.”

 

“Oh yes…” Mrs Hudson came tottering into the room, “… I can definitely confirm that!”

 

John knew he was bright red now.

 

“Well, I hope he’s good in the sack.” Harry crowed, “That would be the only thing that’s worth it.”

 

John opened his mouth to protest, only for his phone to ring on the mantelpiece. He lunged for it, hoping for a dose of sanity (which was an odd concept when it came to Sherlock Holmes) in this chaotic morning.

 

“I’m going to kill Mycroft.” Was the first thing Sherlock said to him.

 

“You’ll only stain your suit… if he’s still being a pain after the wedding, we can talk about it then.” John teased, “You know it’s just because he’s happy for you.”

 

“Are you going to have phone sex?!” Harry called out, as John winced.

 

“We can make it a double homicide.” He sighed, “Mycroft and Harry. Two for the price of one.”

 

Sherlock made a noise of agreement over the phone

 

John couldn’t believe that he was getting married to this man today, something that John had to keep reminding himself, because it didn’t seem real. He kept expecting to wake up any moment now.

 

“It was your idea to have him as my best man.” Sherlock sighed, “I just want this day to be over and- Mycroft, don’t touch that!”

 

“Is he messing with your stuff again?” John resisted the urge to chuckle.

 

“Yes, my violin! Mycroft, why don’t you go and fuss over what Athena is wearing or something!”

 

There was some brief bickering, before Sherlock audibly groaned. “Apparently, our Father has decided to randomly show up. Probably to threaten me with the loss of my inheritance if I go through with this. How I’m not doing the right thing and should be carrying on the family name by producing lots of little… me’s.”

 

Judging by the tone in his voice, that threat was not going to work.

 

“I shall see you in a couple of hours,” Sherlock sighed, “You’ll be there?”

 

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Deep breaths Sherlock/.

 

But Sherlock had already hung up.

 

“Is everything okay?” Mrs Hudson asked, clearly seeing the expression on John’s face.

 

“Yeah… I’m sure it’s nothing.”


End file.
